Violet
by Angelus1
Summary: It's a good thing that Veronica can't form sounds right now, because the name that would have come out of her mouth had she been able to wouldn't have been her husband's. Sequel to Red.


**Author's Notes: This was supposed to be a remix of my fic "Red". Long story short, it ended up being more of a sequel. And while I was initially against doing anything to change or expound upon this fic, I have to say that I really enjoy this installment. So, thank you to LiveJournal's vmwhat(underscore)if for inspiring me. This fic was posted other locations under the title "Halfway Home".**

The apartment is dark when Veronica finally returns home. Peter is in Minneapolis on business until tomorrow, so the place is all hers for the night.

The blissful quiet is a welcome change from the hustle and bustle of New York streets. Veronica doesn't bother flipping on the lights; she leaves her shoes, coat, and purse in a pile by the front door and heads directly for the refrigerator. Peter is a bit of a neat freak - he hates when she does that. It drives her crazy. He hates that she drinks so much, too, but that doesn't stop her from pulling three beers off of the top shelf and downing a shot from the bottle of Grey Goose on the counter before she even starts on the first one. With one bottle in her hand and the others lined up in front of her on the coffee table - without coasters, another of Peter's pet peeves - Veronica collapses on the white leather couch and turns on the television. She doesn't even pay attention to what channel it's on - she simply turns the volume up loud enough that it will help to block out the sounds of her own thoughts bouncing around in her brain.

Some of them still manage to slip through, despite her best efforts. She can still feel the work-roughened skin of his fingers against her bare skin. And she knows where to find him, finally. If she wanted to, she could go back there tomorrow. She could lead him into that back room, push him down on the chair and...

Veronica groans at this particular train of thought, slinging a hand over her eyes as if to block out the mental images, but they still come. Thinking like this will only lead her to trouble.

As if on cue, there's the scraping of a key in the lock of the front door. After a moment of fumbling, balancing his briefcase and suitcase and suit jacket, Peter finally enters, nearly tripping over the mess Veronica left on the floor. A lesser man might have complained, but Peter rarely does, about anything. Sometimes Veronica wonders if she annoys him on purpose, simply to get a rise out of him.

"I thought you were gone until tomorrow," she says flatly. The television is on some teen drama, so she quickly switches it to the news before he can ask questions.

"Time off for good behavior," Peter jokes. He really must be in a good mood, because he drops his stuff right on top of her pile. His shoes and tie and belt come off too as he makes his way over to her. "Remember that bonus the Carmichael people and I were fighting over?" She doesn't, but she makes an affirmative-sounding noise anyway. "Well, I got it!"

Like that was a surprise. Still, he sounds so excited that Veronica can't help but take her arm down from off of her eyes and look over at him. His hands are working the buttons of his shirt and he's peering at her expectantly. Veronica could care less about bonuses and the Carmichael people, but Peter's excited grin is infectious - it always has been. Despite herself, she feels her mouth twist up into a smile that matches his own.

"Congratulations," she says, and tries to sound like she means it. Peter gets down to the last button and pulls his shirt out of his pants, then off completely. He crawls forward on the couch and covers Veronica's body with his own, his face hovering right above hers.

"Hey," he says quietly. "I missed you, sweetheart." Veronica knows that she won't be able to answer without her face and her voice betraying her, so she kisses him instead. At the first touch of her lips to his, she nearly panics - his upper-lip is smooth and he lacks the finesse and passion that she once thought he had in spades. But compared to Weevil, Peter simply fails to measure up.

But Weevil isn't here. Weevil is gone and gone for good, despite the fact that she pocketed one of his business cards on the way out this morning, and now knows not only an address but also a phone number to reach him at. Despite all of this, Weevil was a thing of the past.

Full of resolve, Veronica begins responding to Peter's kisses with equal fervor. She arches into his touch, grasps at his shoulders, harder than usual. His hands stray to the hem of her shirt, and before she can remember to stop him, his fingers are sliding across saran wrap bandages. "What the..." he trails off. Reaching over, he turns on the small lamp on the table behind the couch, then pulls Veronica's shirt off of her so that he can inspect. With wordless wonder, he traces the stems and petals of the twin lilly flowers, removing her jeans as well so that he can take a closer look. "When did you get these?"

"Today," she says shakily, wanting nothing more than for him to stop touching her there. It seems wrong for any other hand to be caressing the intricate designs. "I don't know, it just...seemed like the right thing to do."

"What do they mean?" Peter asks, as he fingers the straps of her thong.

"They were my mom's favorite," Veronica lies smoothly. Peter doesn't know about Lilly - nobody that she's met since Neptune does. That time in her life seems too private to share with anyone else; they couldn't possibly understand everything she went through, and everything she's gone through since.

"They're hot," Peter says appreciatively, bending down to kiss her neck. Veronica lets him undress her fully; lets him lick and kiss his way down her body, carefully avoiding the two raw, ink-marked patches. He pulls his own clothes off, cradles her against him, and sinks into her in one swift, graceful movement. It's a good thing that Veronica can't form sounds right now, because the name that would have come out of her mouth had she been able to wouldn't have been her husband's.

The slow, steady rhythm soothes her frayed nerves. Her pulse slows, and her breathing evens, and when Peter's orgasm rushes over them both, she stiffens her body and makes all the appropriate noises to indicate that hers is occurring as well. His seed fills her, and she lets it wash away Weevil and Lilly and Neptune and everything that is in the past, that should have stayed in the past. She doesn't cum, but she doesn't feel bereft. Peter slides his arms around her torso and she cuddles into him; hairy chest, slight belly-pudge and all.

"I love you," he whispers, before they slip into sleep, entangled together on the not-so-pristine-anymore couch.

"Thank you," Veronica replies a few moments later, but Peter is already snoring, and therefore not awake to question her reply. She wasn't speaking to him anyway - she was speaking to Weevil. Well, maybe Weevil. Or maybe God, if she believes in such a thing. Someone, something, gave her a second chance today, with a side of closure, and Veronica's pretty sure that now, she's going to be able to do something that she has never had a chance to do before.

She's going to move on.


End file.
